


what's the story morning glory

by howlhowl



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlhowl/pseuds/howlhowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mornings are mumbly and groggy and you need tea to function properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's the story morning glory

**Author's Note:**

> this is ancient. (september 2004) and it was a birthday present.  
> here's my original notes:
> 
> thanks to gin gin for idea and giggles. and spaniel for the tutorial on making a cup of tea. i seriously had no idea what i was doing. cheers mate.  
> this happened whenever. and no, im not really happy with it but.. it has no plot, nor a point really. but hey! and because fics always have kinda crappy names that are supposedly clever and stuff.

the pale morning light creeps up even from behind the shut shades and shoots carl in the eye waking him up. he grunts and covers his eyes with his right hand. 'what the fuck...?' he mumbles still half asleep and tries to get up. but his left arm is stuck under a log they also call peter. so he gives up the whole concept of getting up and snuggles up, still half in the wonderland of dreams and the sandman with the sand in his eyes, up against peter's shoulder trying to hide from the rays of light. he hides his face into the nook of between peter's head and shoulders, the base of his neck. hair flopping all over the pace, poking carl in the eye. but the sun's still creeping into his closed eyes.

the morning sun can be so fuckin' cruel. carlos covers his face with his free hand, finally succeeding to block the sun. but the downside really is that the position he's in isn't really that comfortable. oh the troubles of lazy whichever-day-of-the-week mornings. he decides to crudely push peter off his poor arm, after all, he wont fall far since its only a matress they had found of the street abandoned by someone just placed on the floor and not an actual bed. not to be mean, but to get free. to shut out the damn light sneaking in and bothering his precious sleeping in.

"mmmbiglsywthefffck?" peter seems to mumble off the floor as carl gets up and walks all over him, not stepping on him of course, just finding free floorspace between his spread limbs to cover up the window with a spare blanket, since the blinds really arent doing their job proper. peter's rolled over, he's on his back, rubbing his eyes of all that sleepy dust gathered there during the night, glueing his eyelids shut. mumbling and grunting he attempts to roll back on to the matress as carl climbs over him again and lies down. but the sleep has fallen out of his eyes walking around like that and he isn't that sleepy anymore. he lets out an unsatisfied grunt. he's not pleased with this. he looks enviously at peter who's really just sprawn across the floor using the matress more so as a pillow than a bed mumbling something about hard matress more asleep than awake. "oh come off it" he says grabbing peter by his left arm and pulling him back onto the matress by force.

"mmmwhbiglsycoooold," pigman mumbless again eyes still closed, reaching blindly for something in carlos' direction. carlos takes the blanket and covers him up with it, almost tucking him in and gets up to make some tea. he makes his way to the kitchen door, dragging his barefeet on the manky carpet with cigarette buds and remains of food embedded in, kicking paperpack copies of classics and contemporaries off his way and a page of an old copy of evening standard gets stuck on the sole of his foot. he shakes it off and turns at the door. peter is mumbling "mmmmwhtbggglsymmmmmh" and tossing and turning, like he's looking for someone next to him to grab but theres nothing there. he's all bedhair and sleepydust and dreams still hanging from his fingertips.

the kettle whistles and carl pours the boiling water into two mugs on the bags of earl grey he's thrown in them. a cracked best dad in the world they once upon a time found on the street, propably falled out of a bin bag and a similar state mug with talking kittens and the same background story. he stirs the water turning into a darker and darker shade of brown. he fishes out the bag and presses it against the inside of the mug with the spoon to drain it. he does the same to the other one and adds half a spoon of sugar to both. when he gets back into the bed- slash livingroom with the mugs in his hands he's greeted by peter all starry yet still a bit sleepy eyes, already sitting up.

"ooh a cuppa tea! you are the best little housewife this side of thames, biggles m'dear."


End file.
